


white ferrari

by MonikaKrasnorada



Series: Futile Devices [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, if you are looking for happy ot3, these two are so in love, you won't find it here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 16:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikaKrasnorada/pseuds/MonikaKrasnorada
Summary: A series of behind-the-scenes vignettes during the time between Timmy's birthday and the Palm Springs Film Festival awards.Timmy returns to New York but is in a really bad place. Armie continues to struggle.





	white ferrari

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IamJohnLocked4life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/gifts).



> As always, this is a work of fiction.

I care for you still and I will forever

That was my part of the deal, honest

We got so familiar

Spending each day of the year, White Ferrari

Good times

In this life, life

_ White Ferrari - _ Frank Ocean

* * *

 

  
  
  


**Thursday, December 28, 2017**

**< Dougie> **

**12:17AM** <Don’t be angry. Please.>

 

**12:22AM** <You’ll be in LA next week, 

                   it’s not like we can’t hang  

                   out then>

 

**12:39AM** <You know if it wasn’t a      

                   family thing, I would be 

                   there>

 

**12:56AM** <Come on, T. Please. Just 

                   try to understand where 

                   I am in all of this>

 

**1:27AM** <Fuck, T, I can’t stand this, 

                man. Just answer me, let 

                me know we’re ok. We’re 

                ok, right? We’ll talk it out. 

                Next week, Tim. Give me 

                till next week>

  
  


Lying on the sofa, Timmy stared up at the ceiling of his grandmother’s sitting room. After hanging up with Armie, he lost track of how long he’d sat there, staring at the blank and unfamiliar darkness of his grandmother’s southern Florida back garden. He wanted to be  _ home _ . At least there, in his tiny little apartment, he never managed to feel so alone. At least there, he knew how to get lost in the crowd and pretend he was part of something. This? This was solitary confinement. Purgatory.  

He held his phone cradled in his hand, resting on his chest as it vibrated again and again. He didn’t look at it. Didn't have to. It would just be more of the same. Always the same. An  _ excuse.  _ A  _ reason. _ More important things to do. To take care of. Family and responsibility. 

All this time it had kept building, making Timmy feel like a bigger and bigger fool. It was his own fault. He had known from the start of  _ whatever this was _ it could only ever lead to his bitter disappointment. Foolishly, he had thought there would be more—  _ more—  _ before it ended. More chances. More time. More Armie. He was just so  _ angry _ at himself for even a moment’s hope for that something  _ more. _

The thing was, he knew better. It was never in the cards, no matter how much they wore the skins of Elio and Oliver. Even that thought and comparison was laughable and should have clued him in from the very beginning, given the ending of the film. The irony was not lost on Timmy: Oliver went back to the States and married while Elio was left behind to pine and wallow in betrayal and anguish.

They’d spoken of what it all meant only the once, after that fateful night in Crema when they’d finally given in to the weeks of flirting at the edges of something bigger. Timmy and Armie had both agreed it was for the best. They had a lot to lose— Timmy’s fledgling career and Armie’s own resurrection. And wife. And kids.

Timmy understood and accepted it for what it was— a deep and spiritual connection that could never be severed, but could never come to fruition either. He had tried to live with it; both of them had. Nothing ever again  _ untoward _ had happened between them, but it hovered constantly in every interaction, every glance, every word they spoke to one another. All of it was imbued with something so tangible it made Timmy’s skin flush and his desire to reach out and touch almost unbearable to the point he'd started keeping his hands on his pockets in order to train himself not to.

He stared at the ripples of light cast onto the ceiling by the aquarium in the corner of the room. They undulated across the entire expanse of sitting room ceiling, giving Timmy the  illusion he was under water, looking up from the cold ocean depths at the light so far out of his reach.

Thousands of miles away.

His phone vibrated in his hand.

  
  


**Thursday, December 28, 2017**

**< Dougie>**

**7:42AM** <Hope you were able to get

                   some sleep. Will you please 

                   let me know when you are

                   up? I need to talk to you.>

 

Timmy deleted all the messages Armie had sent during the night without response. Armie wanted to call? He needed to talk? About what? Timmy didn’t need to hear anymore from him, not right now. It was best to take some time and disconnect for a while. Armie and his family were going God-knew-where for a vacation and, though Timmy knew it was petty, he  _ really _ didn’t want to hear anymore about it.

He and his mom planned to fly back to New York the following day, so Timmy was determined to enjoy what little time he had left in these warmer climes and spend time with his grandmother whom he saw all-too-infrequently now that she had ‘retired’.

The weather had turned overnight and while it was too cool to consider a swim, it wasn’t too cold to keep Timmy indoors, so he found himself contented to sit in the sun by the pool.

He was scrolling his phone, checking Twitter when he got an Instagram alert. Elizabeth had posted a pic.

With a sigh, he let his head fall back against the headrest of the chair he was lounging in. The sun was low in the sky as he stared up into the endless, cloudless blue behind the dark lenses of his glasses. It was in his best interest to ignore it, but as always, he had zero self-restraint, and apparently a penchant for masochism as he tapped the screen to open the app.

Her post was the first one in his feed.

It was a photo taken from inside an airplane with the billowy white perfection of clouds outside the window and a caption that read:

_ Now available on premium archival luster paper. Beach bound.  _

Timmy was momentarily shocked by his response to seeing the photo. For a second it felt like he was the one on a plane. He hates flying— hates the swoopy feeling of hitting turbulence, when your stomach feels like it’s free-falling inside you. Staring at the image on his phone, that was the immediate feeling that came over him. He felt at once cold and burning hot in turns and his stomach couldn’t decide up from down.

After the initial shock, those overwhelming feelings settled and in their wake came a rush like a wave, of anger so bright and white-hot he could feel his face burn with it; could feel it tingle in the tips of his fingers; pound in the hollow of his throat.

Timmy knew the anger was misplaced, but he didn’t care. It  _ hurt.  _ He didn’t know where he had expected them to go or what they would be doing while gone. So why did the idea of them being beach-bound make him want to curl up in a ball and bury himself alive?

He wanted to crawl out of his skin and couldn’t sit there any longer. As Timmy got up, he smiled absently to the elderly couple sitting under an umbrella near the clubhouse entrance. There was no smoking allowed on the pool deck so he made his way out, weaving between deck chairs and  umbrella stands, shuffling past chaise lounges and side tables littered with fruity drinks with colourful umbrella straws.

The clubhouse was located at the front entrance to the condo complex so he passed through the front gate and onto the sidewalk on the main street, headed nowhere. He just needed to walk. He pulled the packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting up as he came to a crosswalk. Beyond the light was a park, shaded by tall gangly palms. With no plan he headed in that direction as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Sitting on a park bench, Timmy smoked his cigarette down to the filter before pulling his phone out of his pocket. It was illogical to think it was from Armie, if they were truly on a plane at the moment, but some traitorous part of his heart also wished desperately that it were as he opened his messages.

 

**Thursday, December 28, 2017**

**< KT>**

**2:26PM <** yo got hold of molly.

                   were all set hit me up 

                   when you get in>

 

Timmy bit his lip and stared at his feet. It had been a long time since he’d had the particular need to get in touch with KT. Something like dread mixed with a strange exhilaration buzzed beneath his skin as he thought of what he was planning for the weekend. 

 

**2:31PM** < _ Thanks man. Will do. _ >

 

That was that. 

It was strange. Timmy felt like he’d signed some pact with the devil and there was no going back now. The thing was, he could easily still say,  _ no, thanks _ ., if only he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

He was sixteen again, miserable and lonely and angry at the world and he wanted to burn it all down.

 

*****

 

“It’s my boy, little Timmy Tim,.”

Timmy could barely hear above the din of the crowded club. He was already well on his way to being wasted, downing Jack and Coke all night like it was fucking water. He managed to turn around with minimal stumbling as KT made his way through the crowd to where he stood.

All of his friends were there, celebrating his birthday, his impending success. They were all happy for him, telling him how well-deserved  the accolades he was receiving were for the film. It all felt hollow to Timmy and it pissed him off. He should be fucking  _ happy _ . Everything he’d dreamed of was coming true and it still wasn’t enough.

“Dude, I was beginning to think you were fucking me over and not gonna show,” Timmy knew he sounded ridiculous, too loud and his words probably half garbled but it didn’t keep him from smiling like the sun.

“Nah, man. You know I’m good on my word,” KT patted. the front left pocket of his jeans with a knowing look.

That was Timmy’s cue as he reached out to squeeze his pal’s shoulder. “That’s my man. Shall we?”

Timmy didn't wait for an answer as turned and made his way toward the bathroom at the back of the bar, knowing without looking that KT followed close behind.

Normally, Timmy would have merely stayed where he was and taken care of business but with his newfound notoriety, he had to be more careful. Discreet. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know it wouldn’t do his fledgling career much good for some asshat to post a picture of him all over social media.

They wove their way through the sea of sweaty bodies, Timmy nodding and laughing at pals and friends and the occasional  random comment as he went. Once inside the restroom, he sags against the porcelain sink, thankful for the minimal quiet the closed door offered. His ears felt numb, stuffed with cotton, from the constant noise.

KT immediately had his hand down his pocket, pulling out a small clear plastic bag. Timmy held out his hand and waited for KT to pass one over.

The capsule was small, about the size of a vitamin, clear so that inside Timmy could  see the tiny crystalline chunks of nearly pure white bliss.

“Ah, shit, man. How’d you manage this?” Timmy asked, fully incredulous at the apparent high quality MDMA he was holding in his hand.

“Only the best for a  _ rising star _ ,” KT teased, the double meaning making Timmy laugh. “But, man, you know where.”

He and KT went back a long way. They grew up together in the same apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen. While Timmy’s parents were respectable members of society, KT’s— not so much. His dad was known to swim in certain unsavory circles, but for moments like this, it paid to have friends in low places.

“Jesus, please tell me you didn’t steal these from your old man?”

KT laughed. “I’m dumb, asshole, not stupid.” He playfully punched Timmy in the stomach like they were still thirteen.

“Fuck off,” Timmy slurred and smiled, weaving on his feet. “I’ll pay you back, you know I’m good for it.”

“Nah, man. Consider it a belated birthday present,” KT suggested, palming a pill into his mouth. “I brought enough for whoever wants in.”

“You are a fucking good man,” Timmy announced before swallowing his own pill dry.

  
  


*********

 

Armie had missed this. The warm salt-scented air, the lack of noise other than the constant droning presence of waves crashing onto the beach. No traffic sounds to compete with the stillness of island life. 

Of course, coming back wasn’t like coming home. The island was completely different than when he’d lived there as a child. Now it was all commercial real estate and high-end resorts when back then, you could walk for miles and not see anything more than sand and sea grass.

It was almost disheartening, the changes. So much change now in every aspect of Armie’s life, he felt at a constant loss, as if trying to crawl out of a hole he hadn’t even known he’d been digging himself into.

Liz had put the kids to bed and gone off herself with a kiss to his cheek. He knew she had hoped he’d follow as well, but there were a myriad of reasons  _ why.  _ Mentally, he knew he was not in a place  to look too closely beneath that rock just yet.

His head was a mess. He was bone-tired, weary but knew sleep was not in the cards for him even though he’d spent the last two days dragging his family from place to place. Liz had insisted he show the kids where he’d grown up; where he’d gone to school and played. They were too young to care and it was a tedious exercise in futility but for appearances sake, he soldiered on. He was an  _ actor _ after all and happy family man was a role he was all-too practiced in playing lately.

His phone was never out of reach. He was constantly sending texts. They all remained unread as he ignored the constant side-eye sliding his way from Liz. She knew his moods, could read him like a book and knew best when not to say anything. Armie knew it was only a momentary reprieve and the confrontation was bound to happen sooner rather than later and it was going to be catastrophic.

So, there he sat, stretched out in an over-stuffed chaise by the infinity pool outside their villa suite. He was nursing his third Scotch and smoking a cigar when his phone vibrated. It was nearly 1:30 in the morning and his heart froze in his chest as he scrambled to reach for it. He had been hoping for a text—  _ something _ , anything— from Timmy since they last spoke and he struggled for breath as he swiped a finger across the screen to find, not a text, but an Instagram alert.

Timmy had a private account as did Armie. Most ‘celebrities’ do. Neither Armie nor Timmy used their private one much more than their regular accounts. Mostly they used them to send each other posts they’d happen to see they thought the other would like, or to post pictures and videos they didn’t want used as fan fodder. They only followed each other, like a secret no one could know about even though it was entirely innocent, everything they’d ever shared there.

To say Armie was wondering ‘why now?’ was an understatement once he logged on and saw the two stories Timmy had posted.

The first was typical Timmy-style, focussed on the floor with several pairs of feet shuffling to the overloud music of some rap song playing in the background. The next followed suit, more loud music but panning quick shots of a crowded club.

It definitely wasn’t the quiet birthday Timmy said he wanted when Armie had been planning to be there. Had Timmy merely been holding himself back because he didn’t think Armie would be into that sort of scene?

Armie drained the remaining liquor from his glass with a wince. His cigar had long since burned itself out as he’d replayed the videos over and over. He placed it on the table to maybe finish later as his phone vibrated once more.

He was almost scared to look at his phone, uncertainty warring with his unrestrained desire to see and know what Timmy was doing. Armie swallowed as he swiped his finger across the screen once again and saw Timmy’s icon announcing there was another video to be played.

This one hit Armie hard, a video repost from someone else in the club; a friend of Timmy’s judging by the  _ happy birthday _ tag emblazoned across it. There seemed nothing celebratory in Timmy’s nature and gesture Armie could discern. It was the same crowded space, the purple neon lights in the background contrasting sharply with the darkness of the rest of the club. Timmy passed by in a wild blazing mess of hair and pale skin, double-barrelled middle fingers blazing and aimed directly into the camera.

Armie couldn’t know of course, but he  _ knew _ . He knew it was all for him— all of Timmy’s rage and anger and disappointment. Armie’s chest felt tight under the weight of it.

He replayed it over and over, freezing it, hoping to catch a clear enough moment in order to see Timmy’s eyes. There was never an emotion Timmy could hide, not from Armie. He was an open book to Armie though it seemed no one else  took the time to see behind the wide guileless smiles which seemed perpetually drawn across his mouth. Armie was constantly fascinated, watching everything Timmy ever felt work its way across his features. But here he saw nothing but a blank, dull facsimile of Timmy’s usual demeanour.

Armie had never witnessed Timmy like this. He’d seen him drunk— giggling on too much red wine; laughing and singing at the top of his lungs after tequila shots. He’d seen him high— a cuddling, comfort-seeking broody mess.  _ This _ was something Armie had never seen and it frightened as much as it infuriated him.

_ Timmy knew better.  _ It was one thing to get drunk or high or whatever you wanted in the safety of Crema where no one knew who you were, or in a tiny New York apartment tucked away from prying eyes, but it was entirely something much more dangerous to partake of anything recreational in public now that he was a star on the rise.

 

**December 30, 2017**

**1:49AM** <I know you can see that I’ve 

                   seen the vids. WTF? You need 

                   to get your ass home and hope 

                   to fuck no one sees you out like 

                   that. Jesus, T>

 

 **1:50AM** <Call. Me.>

 

Armie was furious as he slumped into the chair beneath him with a groan of frustration. His heart was racing, his palms sweating. He wanted to scream and howl. He wanted to drive to the airport and catch the first flight to NYC. To find Timmy and shake him until he understood how fucking stupid he was being. 

The pressure of guilt was eating him alive, there was nothing he could do and the helpless, hopeless feeling was more than he could bear.

If anything happened to Timmy it would be his fault. He had done this. He could have told Liz to reschedule. They could have gone next week. Armie could have kept his promise to Timmy and  _ been there for him _ . He knew how much it meant to him that Armie be there, to celebrate his birthday with him. If Armie had only stood his ground with Liz and not given in to the guilt and the coercion of family and implied obligations.

_ What a fucking mess. _

Armie must have dozed as he jolted awake when his phone vibrated in his hand in his hand once again. It was after three in the Cayman’s. Armie felt a cold rush of fear and his throat closed tight when he saw there was a text. From Timmy. With a trembling finger, Armie touched the screen to open the message.

There was no text, just a video. Armie pressed play, not realising for all the world he would soon wish he hadn’t.

The screen was nearly black but Armie could hear the sound of Timmy’s huffing laugh, low and dark, followed by sounds of rustling and shuffling as he moved the phone and the picture came into view. Timmy was holding the phone out with his right hand. He leaned against the wall in what looked like a dimly lit hallway. Armie assumed it was still the club he’d been in earlier as he could hear the sounds of music in the background.

Timmy stared into the camera as another person came into view. They pressed up close to Timmy, their face going immediately to his neck. Timmy closed his eyes as his mouth fell open and he licked his lips. Armie heard him moan, low and long and Armie’s blood turned to ice in his veins while something warm and hot centered in his pelvis.

He remembered too well that look and those sounds. Armie blinked until the burn and sting in his eyes subsided.

The video continued and the person pulled back, leaving Armie hollow when he saw it was another guy. The stranger grabbed Timmy by the chin, turning his face so that they could kiss. Armie watched as their mouths contorted, tongues licking and lapping at each other’s mouths. Armie’s stomach clenched, his heart ached because it seemed so wrong.

_ No one else- _

They finally separated and the man went back to work on Timmy’s neck.

Armie couldn’t help but recall the endless hours of attention he’d  paid to that long, elegant column of Timmy’s neck; how the scent of him was always strongest right at the hollow of his throat where Armie would lick and taste, leaving Timmy a writhing mess. It felt like someone had their hand now wrapped around Armie’s own throat, restricting his ability to breathe. His heart shattered for too many things he couldn’t bear to think about.

Armie knew he should just stop watching. Delete the video and forget he’d ever seen it. It wounded something deep inside of Armie, fractured a tender place inside him where he held Timmy sacred. Of all the things he thought Timmy might do as some sort of payback for letting him down, it was never this.

And fuck it all if even that thought didn’t make Armie feel like a bigger asshole than he already was. Who was _he_ to be _hurt_ by Timmy hooking up with someone? Timmy was a free man. Armie had placed no claim or ties on him. How hypocritical of Armie, a man who had a wife and made love to her. Armie had no right to feel betrayed like he did.

Armie was not a good man. He’d essentially led Timmy on the whole time they were filming. He’d allowed passing touches to grow and blossom into passionate kisses whenever they were alone. Tender embraces and whispered words in the darkest hours of the night. They’d given in  _ once _ and Armie was still haunted by the encounter; the feeling of Timmy coming apart in his arms. It was an ache Armie couldn’t ease— the need and want to have that feeling again. To hold Timmy at his most vulnerable, to take him apart and put him back together piece by piece.

Armie felt cold sitting there on that warm, moonlit beach, frozen to the core. He had had enough, but before he could manage to press delete, Timmy’s eyes found his through the screen, daring Armie to look away, as his free hand came to rest on top of the stranger’s head before slowly pushing him to his knees in front of him.

  
  
  



End file.
